


Complements

by samyazaz



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Reunions, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samyazaz/pseuds/samyazaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not an official sort of class reunion, and it's not on any big milestone year, either. It's nearly five years since they all graduated high school together, four and a half since the summer ended and they all went their separate ways, to college or jobs or, in Gwaine's case, backpacking across Europe to try to find himself, or whatever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Complements

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summerpornathon Week Six bonus challenge, colors, and for the "reunion" square on my trope bingo card.

It's not an official sort of class reunion, and it's not on any big milestone year, either. It's nearly five years since they all graduated high school together, four and a half since the summer ended and they all went their separate ways, to college or jobs or, in Gwaine's case, backpacking across Europe to try to find himself, or whatever.

You take for granted how easy it is to keep a big group of friends together when you're in high school, Arthur thinks. It seems so natural to just drag a couple tables together in the cafeteria every day at lunch, to walk each other home or attend football games together. And then senior year ends and suddenly everyone's got their own lives, their own plans, and most of them don't have anything to do with yours.

He's seen most of them since then, of course, an occasional lunch out together or a quick coffee with whoever happens to be back home at the same time he is. Always ones or twos, and never long enough to satisfy. The whole group, though, they haven't been able to get the whole group together since their big farewell barbecue at the end of the summer after senior year. So nearly five years on, when most everyone's back from college for good, Morgana sends out an evite to everyone that simply has a date, a time, and a location. The only description she provides is, "You're all coming, so mark it on your calendars. Exceptions will only be provided if you're attending a wedding or a funeral, and in either case, it had better be your own."

It's less than two days before Morgana's sending Arthur texts, crowing about how everyone, absolutely everyone, has said yes. Arthur doesn't respond. He'd accepted the invitation as soon as Morgana had sent it, the very first one to respond, and he hadn't looked at it since. He couldn't bear to. Just the thought had his pulse racing and a sweat breaking out across his palms.

Morgana knew, of course. She was his sister, she always knew. That's why she tormented him.

She's hosting the get-together at her apartment, which normally would mean Arthur getting roped into help her set up, but he volunteers for extra shifts so he can tell her honestly that he's scheduled to work that day and he'll have to come right over from work. He might even be a little late, if traffic doesn't cooperate. He'd normally hate to mislead her, even if every word he says is technically the truth, but guilt be damned, this is self-preservation. His nerves wouldn't be able to take it.

He gets out of work with plenty of time, but he waits until he's twenty minutes late before he heads up the stairs to her apartment. He can hear the noise from outside, music and laughter that's so familiar it makes his heart hurt. And when he pulls the door open and steps inside, everyone's there, _everyone_ , Gwen and Morgana pressed tight together on the couch like it hasn't even been a day since high school, Leon in the kitchen with Percy wheedling out some story about how he let his hair grow longer for a girl. Gwaine lounges in an armchair looking like he just got back from Europe yesterday even though Arthur knows for a fact that he lasted six months before his funds ran out and he had to pinch pennies and sketch bargain-priced portraits on the streets of Milan just to afford a plane ticket back home.

And Merlin. Merlin's lying on his back by the couch, his legs up on the seat and his bare toes wiggling as he says something to Lancelot. He's talking with his hands like he always does, like he always _did_ , and Arthur's heart stops dead in his chest.

"Arthur!" Gwen squeals, the first to notice him, and launches herself off of the couch and into his arms. He squeezes her tight and they exchange the usual pleasantries, but he's going to have to sit down with her later to really catch up, because Merlin's scrambling up off the floor like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. He's still an awkward tangle of long limbs, and Arthur is riveted.

"Arthur," he breathes, and smiles, but _that_ is something that's changed since high school. Arthur's used to him smiling like the sun come out from behind a cloud, but this one is slight and more than a little hesitant. "Hi."

Arthur pulls him into a hug and squeezes him maybe a little too tight, definitely a little too long. Merlin's still wearing the same damn red scarf that he wore all through high school, just as bright as it ever was, and Arthur isn't sure if the sight of it makes him want to laugh, or cry. He presses his face into it as he embraces Merlin and inhales the old, familiar scent of wool and Merlin's laundry soap.

"All right, don't hog him," Gwaine says loudly, elbowing them apart, and then it's a flurry of hellos and how are yous and hugs or pats on the back. Arthur wants to talk to Merlin most of all, wants to pull him aside to some quiet room and sit him down and make him tell Arthur all about the past four and a half years. He can't find the opportunity, though -- or the nerve, if he's honest -- but somehow he ends up on the couch with Merlin all the same. Arthur's sitting at one end and Merlin's stretched out on his side, taking up the rest of the seats, but no one seems to mind. He's got his head on Arthur's thigh, which is driving Arthur slowly mad, and he seems to be asleep, which is even worse.

Arthur fingers the edge of Merlin's scarf and tries not to lose his damn mind. It's softer than he remembers it being, cozier, like all these years of Merlin's love have turned it into something even better than it started out as. Arthur's gripped by the ridiculous urge to wrap it around his face and breathe deep until the smell of it is a part of him, and even the distance of years apart can't take it from him.

"If you're getting your greasy fingerprints all over that," Merlin mumbles without opening his eyes, without even moving. Arthur jumps, and earns a grumble and a steadying hand on his knee when the movement jostles Merlin's head. "I'm going to make _you_ wash it. By hand."

"My hands aren't greasy," Arthur says. He wants to stroke Merlin's hair, wants to soothe him until he's gone loose and pliant again, but he holds himself back. "You're sleeping through the party," he says, and wants to kick himself for sounding like such an asshole. "Too many late nights partying catching up with you?"

"Mm," Merlin says, unmoving. "Too many late nights at the library catching up with me." He cracks one eye open and looks up at Arthur. "Grad school," he says. "While you all have been going out and using your degrees to earn gainful employment, I've been battling my way through finals week." A communal groan goes up at the memory of that particular horror. "Sorry," he adds to Arthur, and sounds genuinely apologetic. "I'm beat."

Arthur didn't think it was possible for him to feel like _more_ of an ass, but apparently it is. "You don't have to apologize. Sleep." He puts his hand on the crown of Merlin's head. It feels daring, but Merlin just hums like he likes it and lets his eyes fall shut again. "I don't have anywhere I need to be."

And he means it. The party wears on without them, and he feels like he and Merlin are the only still point at the center of its storm. There's laughter and stories and reminiscing, there's Gwen discovering wine in Morgana's fridge and, half a bottle later, planting a kiss on her mouth that makes Gwaine whoop laughter and Morgana beam with delight.

And somehow, in the midst of all of that, Arthur falls asleep too with Merlin's head on his knee. He wakes up to darkness and silence. The party's over, everyone else gone. The clock over Morgana's stove says it's gone past two in the morning, and she must have left them there to sleep after she'd chased everyone else off. Arthur's not sure whether to be irritated with her or grateful. At some point while he slept his hand had tangled itself in Merlin's hair, and now he has to use the bathroom, but he can't bring himself to move.

It's Merlin who breaks the stillness, in the end. His breathing hitches, a whuffling, hiccuping sort of sound, and then he rolls onto his back and scrubs a hand over his eyes with a groan. "Arthur?" The word is slurred and sleepy, full of a child's confusion. Arthur wants to wrap Merlin in his arms and never let him go.

"It's okay," he whispers, stroking the hair off Merlin's forehead. "I think we've been left behind. Go back to sleep."

"Oh." Merlin, perversely, tries to struggle upright. "I should-- I should go home, my car's still in the lot, I should--"

"Don't be absurd." Arthur pulls him back down. Merlin gives up after only a moment and curls on the couch again, pillowing his cheek on Arthur's lap. "You're in no state to drive. Morgana wouldn't have left us here if she minded letting us crash on the couch."

"Oh," Merlin murmurs. "Mkay."

Arthur stares down at him through the darkness for a moment, before he urges Merlin to lift his head up and starts unwrapping the scarf from around his neck. "Come on, Merlin," he urges when Merlin humphs a sleepy protest. "You're going to get strangled in the middle of the night if you sleep in this thing." When he gets it unwound, he drapes it up over the back of the couch then looks down at Merlin, smiling fondly. "I can't believe you're still wearing that thing after all this time."

"I love that thing." Merlin has to break off halfway through the sentence for a yawn.

A wry smile pulls at the corners of Arthur's mouth. "Here I hoped that going off to college would get you to expand the palette of your closet."

Merlin goes very still. When Arthur looks down at him, there's a glint that can only be Merlin's eyes, open, fixed on him. "What?" he says, and he suddenly doesn't sound tired at all.

Arthur makes himself look away and clears is throat before he speaks. "You were always wearing red. If not the scarf, then something else. Always red. I figured -- because of the school colors, you know? Red and gold. It was school spirit, wasn't it?" There was no good reason at all for someone to wear the color as often as Merlin had, otherwise.

"Arthur," Merlin breathes, and pushes himself upright. "You always wore green."

Arthur frowns. He had a green coat, he remembers, and it had fit him better than all his others, and had big enough pockets for him to store gloves and pens and his wallet and a paperback book, sometimes, on those days when Merlin would come up to him in the hall and shove a book in his hands and demand, "You have to read this, I'm serious, just do it." He wore it more than his others, for all those reasons, but... "What does that--"

Merlin makes a sharp, frustrated sound. "Red, and green. They're complementary colors."

Arthur frowns in the darkness and wonders if Merlin's maybe not as awake as he seems. "They praise each other?"

Merlin makes that sound again, a low rumbling growl of impatience. "Com _ple_ mentary. They complete each other." His voice goes strange, softer and a little strangled, like maybe his throat is suddenly dry. "I always liked the symbolism of it."

"Merlin..." Now it's Arthur's voice that's strangled, Merlin's name turning to a knot that stops his throat and he can't speak another word, so he just reaches out, closes his hand on what he thinks is Merlin's shoulder.

"You didn't know?" Merlin's voice is high and tight, verging toward hysterical. He shivers hard beneath Arthur's hand. "Oh my god, _you didn't know_. I thought-- I thought you just didn't-- Everyone knew, Arthur, _everyone_ , how could you not--"

He only stops talking because he throws himself at Arthur and crashes their mouths together. They're both a sudden flurry of motion, hands scrabbling, Merlin's mouth hot and frantic on his. Arthur kisses him until he can't breathe, until his chest aches and he has to break away and lean his forehead against Merlin's and fight to fill his lungs. "Merlin," he groans. His hands are shaking but it doesn't matter because Merlin's are too. "I've wanted to do that for six years."

"Six?" Merlin laughs, breathless, delirious. "I've wanted it for longer." He pushes Arthur down and climbs over him, seals his lips on Arthur's neck and says against his skin, "Arthur, you're going to have to be quiet."

Arthur's too busy arching up against his mouth to immediately ask, "Why?"

"Because," Merlin says, and grins, his teeth sharp and biting. "If you wake your sister up, we're going to have to stop." He drags his hands down Arthur's chest and slides his fingers past the waist of his jeans. "And I really don't want to have to stop."

Arthur muffles his groan against Merlin's mouth. He's never been the quiet sort, but if it means he doesn't have to let Merlin go, he thinks he's capable of anything.


End file.
